Janet Evanovich - Wicked Appetite

“Have you been home long?” I asked Diesel, dragging myself out of my car, suddenly exhausted.

“Only long enough to see the broken door, the blood on the kitchen floor, and the saber. I was about to have Gwen start calling hospitals.”

“I’d explain it all to you, but I’m so tired I can barely stand.”

“My heart stopped beating for a full five minutes when I walked into the kitchen,” he said. “The instant I saw the saber and the broken door, I knew it was Hatchet. If I’d found him before I found you, he’d be dust.”

“I tried to call you, but my phone got dumped in the sink during the scuffle and died.”

“As long as it was just the phone that died,” Diesel said, following me into the house, looking at my arm bandaged from wrist to elbow. “How bad is it?”

“I caught the tip of the saber. It didn’t slice especially deep, with the exception of a small part in the middle. It only required seven stitches.”

“And Hatchet?”

“Cat attacked him and scared him away.”

Diesel smiled. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. Cat was awesome.”

“I’ll never begrudge him another muffin.” He looked over at the door. “Since your door got kicked in, I assume Hatchet was acting without Wulf.”

“Hatchet was having delusions of greatness. He had a fantasy of presenting Wulf with the charms.”

“I have a fantasy,” Diesel said. “Would you like to hear about it?”

“I already know about fantasies number seven and eight. How does this one stack up?”

“This one is much better.”

“Maybe you want to save it for when I’m not doped up on painkillers.”

“Yeah, we don’t want to waste this one. You look like you’re done for the day.”

I took the burnt cake out of the oven, trudged upstairs, brushed my teeth, changed into pajamas, and crawled into bed. I turned the light off, and ten minutes later, Diesel slipped under the covers next to me. One minute after that, Carl climbed under the covers and inserted himself between us.

Diesel flipped the light on.

“Out,” he said to Carl.

“Eep?”

“Where do monkeys usually sleep?” I asked Diesel.

“Trees, cages, Dumpsters. The last time I had to live with this one, he slept on the couch.”

“So get him settled on the couch. There’s an extra pillow and quilt in the hall closet.”

Diesel slid out of bed and pulled Carl out from under the covers.

“Jeez Louise,” I said to Diesel. “Could you put something on?”

“Don’t look if you don’t like it.”

That was the problem. I liked it a lot. And there was no way I wasn’t going to look.

“It’s easier protecting you if I’m next to you,” Diesel said. “And this is the way I sleep. Just deal with it.”

I woke up minutes before the alarm was set to go off. Diesel was asleep beside me, and Cat was sitting at the foot of the bed, watching me in the dark. I shut the alarm off, grabbed some clothes, and went into the bathroom to get dressed. Cat was waiting for me when I came out. He followed me down the stairs and into the kitchen. I poured crunchies into his bowl, gave him fresh water, and started coffee brewing.

Carl came in from the living room, dragging his knuckles, fur sticking every which way, eyes bleary.

“You didn’t have to get up this early,” I said to him.

Carl shrugged, took the box of Froot Loops off the counter, shoved his hand in, and ate a fistful. I did the same with the Frosted Flakes. Ordinarily, I’d take my coffee out to the back porch, but this morning I hesitated. The back porch didn’t feel safe anymore. My door was broken and my arm throbbed where it had been sutured. Diesel had cleaned the blood off the floor and the saber was gone. The kitchen looked normal, but it would take a while before I felt completely comfortable.

I was pacing with my coffee, muttering to myself, angry that my life was disrupted, angry that I’d become afraid of the dark, when Diesel ambled in. He was barefoot, and from the way his jeans rode low on his hips, showing nothing but skin, I suspected he was wearing just the jeans. He poured himself a mug of coffee and drank it black, lounging against the counter.

“How do you feel about carrying a gun?” he asked me.

“I’m scared, but not that scared. I wouldn’t know what to do with a gun.”

“I could teach you.”

“I’d rather not,” I said.

“A gun would protect you against Hatchet.”

“What about Wulf?”

“I’m the only thing that can protect you against Wulf.”

I closed the box of Frosted Flakes and put it away in the cupboard. “Do you think Hatchet will come after me again?”

“I don’t know. He’s a loose cannon. Hard to say what he’ll do.”

“I was so tired last night I forgot to ask you about Mark.”

Cat was on the counter by Diesel, and Diesel instinctively scratched him behind the ear while he drank his coffee. “Mark was waiting for me at the wharf. He had five finger-prints on his neck from Wulf, but not an entire handprint. Between the mess we made in Mark’s apartment, the fire, and Wulf kidnapping him and burning him, Mark was rattled to the point where he barely had a coherent thought.”

“What about the charm?”

“You were right about the charm. Mark had it on him the whole time. He carried it in his pocket. It was a dragonfly. The charm’s in Wulf’s pocket now.”

“So it’s two for the good guys and one for the bad guy. Does this mean our work is done?”

“No,” Diesel said. “It means I don’t know how to complete the job.”

“All the gluttony pieces have been found. What’s left to do?”

“The legend is that there were seven Stones representing the seven sins. Nothing is said about a Stone being fragmented. I always thought if the three charms were combined, they might somehow become one Stone, or else lead us to the real Stone.”

“So you’re thinking there’s a chance the actual Stone is out there somewhere, still undiscovered. And if that’s the case, Wulf has a chance of finding it.”

Diesel finished his coffee, rinsed his mug, and set it on the counter next to the sink. “It’s not a good chance, but it’s possible. Give me a minute to get dressed, and I’ll drive you to the bakery. I don’t want you on the road alone.”

Fridays are always busy. People entertain on Friday night and businesses have lunchtime celebrations that range from baby showers to retirement ceremonies. And all those things need meat pies, breadbaskets, and cupcakes. By eleven A.M., the corporate lunch orders were out the door, and the shop was empty of customers. Clara was in clean-up mode, and I was icing cupcakes for afternoon pickup.

Glo stuck her head into the kitchen. “Have you got a minute?”

“Why?” Clara asked, looking like she might not want to know the answer.

Glo scooted through the kitchen to the back door. “There isn’t anyone in the shop right now, and I want to show you something.”

“It better not be another monkey,” I said to her. “Or another cat or rhinocerous or iguana or abandoned bear cub.”

“It’s none of those things,” Glo said, disappearing into the parking lot and reappearing holding four brooms. “I got to thinking about the broom thing. I mean, there are all kinds of brooms, and maybe it makes a difference, right? So I got a bunch of them.” She leaned the brooms against the counter and opened Ripple’s book to the soaring spell. “I don’t really need Ripple’s. I know the spell by heart, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt for someone to follow along just to make sure I have it perfect.”

Clara pulled the plugs on the big mixer, the blender, and the coffeemaker. “Just in case,” she said.